


The Flower and The Wolf

by Quallian42



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Beauty and the Beast Fusion, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Eventual Romance, Fairy Tale Retellings, Geralt as the Beast, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier as the Beauty, M/M, both of them are dumb
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:20:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22457113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quallian42/pseuds/Quallian42
Summary: A Very Witcher Retelling of Beauty and the Beast. Jaskier stumbles upon a crumbling castle and immediately decides to treat it like a vacation timeshare. Geralt doesn't like this, but Geralt doesn't get a choice. Not when there's a curse to break and a ballad to be composed.̈"A handsome, but uncivilized prince, a warrior, and a leader of warriors." Jaskier spoke softly to the little mare, tired of the quiet. "Cursed to become the monster that he hunted. I can work with that, I think. A scorned princess, a rejected love. It's all very good isn't it?"There was a good story there. It needed to be fleshed out a bit though.̈"And what better way to start than to see the woods myself. Very inspirational. And very safe. Well, relatively safe. Safer than town.” Jaskier prattled on. You see, my beauty, it's all well and good to hear the songs, but no one actually goes and looks for themselves. You ́ll see. The fearsome forest hasn't been so bad. Well, I mean we haven’t actually gone in yet. And I bet you that castle turns out to be a ramshackle old cottage, the fearsome horde a pack of unnaturally aggressive chipmunks. The Prince-"
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 44
Kudos: 374





	1. Chapter One - Needless Exposition

**Author's Note:**

> I have only seen the TV show and read the fanfic, but then again this is a Beauty and the Beast AU so I think I can be afforded a few liberties.

Jaskier idly plucked at the strings of his lute, with no real intent, as his little mare bore him along the empty road. That seemed to be a theme lately if he were honest with himself. No intent, no music, no song, no destination. No coin or traveling companion. No real idea what he was going to do next. He didn’t know much at the moment.

There were three things Jaskier did know though. He was traveling West because the sun was setting directly in his eyes. Not very pleasant. The second thing was that his delicate seat was not intended for horseback travel. The saddle was hard and worn. The mare was worn and thin. Not worth the bag of coins that the farmer had demanded for her. But Jaskier had prioritized a quick escape over a comfortable ride or a fair price, and his tender bottom was paying the price.

The third thing the Jaskier knew, without a doubt, was that, all things considered his situation could have been much, much worse. Not that that little fact would cease his complaining. After all, things could have been much, much better just as easily.

The lute strings under his fingers gave a discordant twang as the little mare stumbled over a rut, jarring the bard. “Hey,” Jaskier admonished. “You watch where you’re going. Eyes on the road.” He softened the rebuke with a pat to her neck, before swinging the lute around to rest against his back. He hadn't been bothering to hold the reins. The beast seemed to be perfectly content to plod along the road. But it was getting dark, and he had better start paying attention himself.

Jaskier hadn't planned to come this way. He had been traveling with a small troupe of musicians and actors for the last few months and they had traveled further than he knew on a map. It hadn't mattered at the time. The bard had been excited to come this far, collecting inspiration for his songs and leaving the logistics up to his traveling companions. 

Foolishly, he had not thought to leave his traveling companions’ companions to them as well. A light bit of flirting, a triple entendre or two, and one ill timed venture up the wrong skirt had left him figuratively, and literally out on his ass, his possessions quickly sailing out the door behind him, landing in the squelching mud. It was a setback, but not a dire one. Before the muck had even dried, Jaskier was composing a scathing new tune about the ferret faced flautist and his comely, if unfaithful bride.

It wouldn't have been so bad if Jaskier had left it at that. He had traveled on his own before. Granted, not this far out, and not often. Jaskier had a habit of latching on to his fellow travelers easily, and he often found companions that appreciated his wit, charm, or flexibility, not to mention his musical talents. 

It had been time to move on anyway. The troupe had been more concerned with earning coin than finding new stories, and the repertoire was growing stale. Jaskier would be more selective next time, he vowed, choosing a traveling companion who had at least seen someone who had seen a monster, or knew of some less well known fairy stories that Jaskier could pillage for inspiration.

Not that that had worked out either. Ellion had been nice, and a cuddler, which gave Jaskier plenty of time and good will to get some local stories out of the merchant. He had proven rather chatty once sated.

Ellion’s wife though hadn't been so keen on the arrangement, nor had been her four large, angry and frankly terrifying brothers. Who weren't supposed to be back in town for another fortnight. Just a bard’s luck.

So Jaskier had run. Stopping only long enough to plead for food and a swift mount at a farm outside of town. He had been given both grudgingly, and at great expense, and had been riding the better part of two days, into the foreboding woods west of the town. The farmer had called him a fool for that, but Jaskier had just hoped the murederous little family chasing him had felt the same and preferred caution over retribution.

He had got some of the tale from Ellion. The forest was cursed. A monsterous pack of creatures haunting the ancient wood, protecting a castle that lay at its heart. Protecting the doomed prince within.

Jaskier was not stupid. He was a bard. It was all fairy story and gossip. Whatever little kernel of truth might have once been at the tale had been long dead, since the prince had supposedly been cursed over 100 years ago. It was a good tale though.

“A handsome, but uncivilized prince, a warrior, and a leader of warriors.” Jaskier spoke softly to the little mare, tired of the quiet. “Cursed to become the monster that he hunted. I can work with that, I think. A scorned princess, a rejected love. It's all very good isn't it?” 

There was a good story there. It needed to be fleshed out a bit though. 

“And what better way to start than to see the woods myself. Very inspirational. And very safe. Well, relatively safe. Safer than town.” Jaskier prattled on. You see, my beauty, it's all well and good to hear the songs, but no one actually goes and looks for themselves. You’ll see. The fearsome forest hasn’t been so bad. Well, I mean we haven’t actually gone in yet.” He paused and gestured to the densely packed wood that had hugged one side of the road for the past day. It was a bit gloomy looking.

“And I bet you that castle turns out to be a ramshackle old cottage, the fearsome horde a pack of unnaturally aggressive chipmunks. You know how these stories get exaggerated.”

The little mare stopped, ears twitching back. “Oh, you’re not scared of chipmunks are you?” Jaskier asked, and then frowned as he spotted the source of the horse’s reluctance. A bend in the path had revealed a tree lying across the road. To one side lay the forest, seeming to the bard to be darker and more ominous than a moment before. The other side of the road dropped sharply down into an embankment. 

Mare and man both jumped as a peal of thunder shook the sky, which had turned grey while Jaskier had been lost in thought.

“Convenient that.” he murmured, running a hand down the horses neck. “Impeccable timing. Don't let me forget that when I write it all out.” Jaskier wasn't sure if he was trying to lighten the mood for the little mare’s sake or for his own. He turned about in the saddle, unsure of what to do next. A fat raindrop splattered his nose. 

This,well this was not ideal. They would need shelter soon, and unless his mount had been hiding a talent for leaping, the road was no longer an option. Jaskier edged them closer to the woods, studying the thicket of brambles and closely grown trees. 

There. If you turned your head just the right way, squinted, and poked out your tongue a little, you could just see a gap leading into the woods.

“See.”Jaskier said, reigning the little mare towards the new path. It took some persuasion and a less than gentle kick to the ribs, but the horse finally moved forward, squeezing between branches and prickly bushes. The bard bent low, shielding his head with one arm.

Only a few steps in, the path suddenly widened. It still wasn't much, overgrown and suddenly steep, but the going was easier, relatively.

“Nothing to worry about you silly old girl. We’re out of the rain now. Isn't that nice.” Jaskier slid his lute back around, strumming it softly. Music always put him at ease, and maybe he could convince both of them that the forest wasn’t as foreboding as it seemed. 

“This isn’t so bad. It's not a park but hardly impending doom. Not even any ferocious little chipmunks. We ́ll find a nice clearing soon, or maybe that castle of a cottage. No beasties or monsters. No curses. No princes set to ravage hapless travelers.”

He paused. The air around them was quiet, a whiff of menace in the air. Jaskier laughed nervously and strummed a quick loud succession of notes. “Hah. A ravaging prince. Wouldn ́t mind a little of that actually.” His spirits lightened a little, the bard began to sing along, a wordless melody for now. Tune first, lyrics later.

Beneath him the horse shied, ears flicking back as she snorted. 

“Oi! That's not nice.” Jaskier complained. “My singing’s not that bad. Or is it the ravaging you’re opposed to? Maybe our cursed prince will have a feisty stallion for yo- Woah!”

Jaskier dropped the lute and clung to the saddle as the little mare jolted to the side. Things happened rather suddenly after that. A flash of white fur at the corner of his eye, a growl. His little mare ́s scream as she reared up,eyes rolling in fear. Jaskier was thrown before he had quite figured out what happened, flying through the air until the ground rushed up to slam into him, cracking his skull against an exposed root. The air whooshed out of his lungs.

“Fuck”. He gasped, his own eyes rolling, struggling to focus as he watched the terrified horse barrel away, deeper into the woods. The world began to blink out around him. He felt and heard, more than saw, the thing that had caused all this trouble. It padded towards him, large and indistinct, a low growl vibrating through the bard’s aching bones.

“Oh fuck.” Jaskier wheezed, squeezing his eyes shut as he was pulled into a dizzying blackness. His last conscious, hysterical, thought was that the hot breath against his face most certainly did not belong to a chipmunk.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Geralt doesn't let Jaskier die, against his better judgement

“Fuck.” 

Geralt looked at the little human crumpled up on the ground, his lip curling as he scented blood and perfumed soap. He glanced back over his shoulder. The horse was gone, though Geralt could still hear it crashing around. Running for its life, screaming, further into the forest.

“You’re as stupid as your master.” 

The monster had been watching the two of them since midmorning, shadowing their path along the edges of his land. He had been surprised to feel their presence at all. The road was rarely traveled, and never for long. Men scurried through quickly, stinking of fear and the desperation to be away from the foreboding woods. Whether it was the curse itself, or simply the memory of it passed down generations, he did not know, and did not particularly care.

Travelers did not take the road, and they did not enter the wilderness here. It should have been impossible. The way in was well hidden. And yet this fool had sauntered in, perched atop his sway backed nag, singing and strumming his noisy little instrument. He didn’t even have the decency to hang on to his saddle when Geralt had tried to spook them. He had meant for the boy to gallop back the way he came, leaving the forest and the beast. Instead, the man had gone flying, and the mare running in the wrong direction.

Geralt snorted and lowered himself on his haunches. He lifted the boy’s head, prodding at the back of his skull and the tacky patch of blood there. The bones didn’t shift under his fingers, and there wasn’t any obvious brain matter on the ground.

He then lifted each eyelid in turn, growling at the difficulty he had in doing so. Human hands would have made this easier. But Geralt’s hands, like the rest of him had been made monstrous by the curse. Large enough to crush a man’s head, or snap his neck, and clumsy for delicate work. The long claws scratched at the boy’s face even with his carefulness. His hand were more suited as weapons than tools.

The pupils were uneven, unsurprising considering the force with which he had met the tree root. Absently, Geralt patted the rest of his boy down, finding no broken bones or lasting damage. One leg was swelling, near the ankle. He would be limping, bruised, and concussed. 

But he would live. For a while.

Geralt stood again and stared down at the interloper, his long wolf like ears flattening against his skull in annoyance. The man had no food. No water. No clothing, or blanket, or provision of any sort. The nag had spirited all that away in her haste.

He had no weapons, and his clothing was as useless against the weather as it was ridiculous to look at. He had a lute. And a head injury. 

Geralt considered his options. He could leave. It wasn’t his fault the idiot had managed to find his way here. Even if Geralt had not intervened, he had not been the only creature tracking the little musician. The wolves would have made quick work of him and his horse soon enough.

He could toss him back out into the road. Geralt himself was unable to cross the boundaries of the land, but the boy looked light enough and Geralt was strong enough to get a fair amount of clearance. He’d make the road, or at least the small ditch. 

On foot, with no provisions and injured, it would take the boy several days to reach a town. But there was a storm coming, with the promise of sleet and snow. It would probably be the last fierce storm of Winter, but it would outpace him and devour him as surely as the wolves.

He needed water, food, a place to hide from wolves and the Winter. He would need help.

There was only one real option then. Kaer Morhan. The mountain fortress was a day’s journey, at least for a beast like him. He could store the wounded man in the gatehouse there. With any luck Vesemir, his old teacher, or one of the others would still be within the walls and he could pawn this off on them. If he were very lucky, the little nuisance would not wake until then and Geralt would be able to escape his presence entirely.

The muscle in his cheek twitched in annoyance. 

Geralt made quick work of stripping the lute from the boy’s back. He slung it over one shoulder. The boy went over the other. He would have to try to find the horse later.

“Fuck.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier finally meets Geralt, sort of

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you have any idea how ridiculously difficult it is to describe Beast!Geralt when Jaskier is both an unreliable narrator and also incredibly thirsty?

Jaskier came back to himself in bits and pieces. A pounding in his head, glimpses of trees painted gold in the dying sun and moving at an odd angle. Warm fur under his cheek. It made no sense. He had felt all these sensations before and in different combinations. But all together?

A night of revelry would explain the head. That puzzle piece was not difficult to solve. He had woken to that many, many times. It would also explain the trees. Less frequently he had woken to the roll and pitch of passing scenery from whatever wagon his fellow troubadours had tipped him into while passed out. Very occasionally he had woken to a splitting headache, burrowed into a luxurious skin rug in front of some aristocrat’s fire. He was usually less clothed in those situations though. And more accompanied. But this specific combination made no sense.

Maybe not so alone though, Jaskier amended. A heavy, hot weight gripped the back of his thighs. An aristocrat with a penchant for taking a bear rug on picnics perhaps? Jaskier let his eyes slip closed, considering the situation. Something was not right about this. 

Jaskier blinked his eyes open. It was dark. And uncomfortable. His ankle throbbed. His head felt hot, the fur rug shifted beneath his chest. The fur rug..shifted? No it moved. He scrunched his face, and squinted, trying to see in the dim light afforded by a full moon. 

“Not to question the aesthetic,” the bard paused, trying to remove a tuft of fur stuck to his lips, “I’m not usually one to critique a little opulence, but an enchanted carpet seems a bit excessi-Shit!” his sentence cut off with a squeak as a large paw clamped more tightly against his legs. 

A large paw. A very large, heavy paw.

Jaskier struggled as his scrambled brain finally translated the scene. Long white fur surrounded him, an impossibly broad back under him, a wolf like tail, an ass that in any other situation would have been a ballad worthy glory. There were even more paws towards the bottom. 

It was not often that Jaskier could be shocked into silence, but apparently being carried off by a monster could do the trick. He was going to die. He was going to die and be eaten and there would be no one to write mournful dirges of his death. He was going to die hungover.

Without thinking, which he would admit was never really a priority in emergencies, Jaskier reached out, grabbed two handfuls of tail, and yanked.

The creature beneath him let loose a yowl that sounded to Jaskier very nearly like a curse and dropped his burden in surprise. 

See, that worked out then. No elaborate plan necessary. The bard scrambled to his hands and knees, making it three paces before the monster grabbed one of his ankles, and yanked. He tried to twist away, but only ended up being dragged on to his back. 

As undignified, painful, and frankly terrifying the position was, it did afford him a good view of his captor. It was a large creature, at least half again as tall as Jaskier, covered in soft looking white fur, his expression a mix of apoplectic rage and offended indignation. 

Jaskier quickly dropped his gaze to the ground, staring at sharp clawed toes instead as the world spun and tilted. One beat. Another. The creature didn’t move. Jaskier let his gaze wander higher. The monster balanced on the balls of its feet like a wolf, strong calves leading towards thick thighs. The tail, also wolf like, was now tucked in protectively between its legs. That did nothing to hide the fact that A: the creature was completely naked, B: obviously male, and C: while the lower limbs were quite lupine in nature, the monster resembled a bull, or perhaps a very large horse, in other departments.

The bard gulped, forcing his eyes upwards. A chest like a bear, all fur and muscle, strong arms, enormous paw like hands with wicked claws. A hand, he remembered fuzzily, large enough to palm both his thighs at once. He let his eyes trail back up the arms. The creature had wide shoulders and an odd face. It was a little like a buffalo, with a flat sloping nose, and short twisted horns, surrounded by a lion’s mane of more white fur. Large ears were pinned against a blocky skull and wickedly sharp fangs, like daggers, jutted from between pink lips.

Its eyes were gold. Jaskier’s breath hitched, and he stared, metaphors for treasures and blazing suns rushing through his mind of their own accord. Curse his poet’s heart. 

His subject snarled and reached out, breaking the spell. With a terrified shriek and no time wasted to thought, Jaskier kicked out, his foot connecting with a set of bullish attributes. Unfortunately this did not have the desired effect. The creature lashed out, catching the bard by the chest and pinning him to the ground, leaving him to struggle ineffectually against the brutish hold.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” A monsterous bellow rattled the bard.

“What’s wrong with me?” Jaskier shrieked back, wiggling. “You were trying to eat me! Or abduct me or...or..” His hand flailed out, searching for something to use as a weapon. A stick maybe, or a rock. Where was his lute?

“You fucking kicked me in the balls!”

“I didn’t want to be eaten!” 

“I’m not eating you!” the monster punctuated his statement with two sharp shakes. “Calm. Down.”

Jaskier went limp, breathing hard against the paw around his ribs.”You’re not eating me?” he asked, tentatively. 

“No.” A short huff of annoyance from the beast.

“Okay. Uh well, I appreciate that. Am I being taken back to your nest to be devoured by your offspring?” 

“No.”

“Kidnapped in a more general sense?”

The monster’s hold loosened slightly, but did not relent. “No.” 

Jaskier nodded. “You’re not planning to, uh,” he licked at his lips nervously, eyes flickering downwards without his permission “ravish me?” As the word squeaked out of his mouth, he felt his face grow hot and babbled on. “Because I’m flattered, honestly. I see it as a great compliment. But, and no offense meant, but I think the logistics are just not-and I’m a bit too delicate for all of-”

The huff this time almost sounded amused, if still annoyed. “Shut up”.

“Shutting up.” he agreed.

“I’m letting you go. Don’t fucking kick me.” The heavy weight disappeared from his chest, but one untrusting hand remained wrapped around his leg.

Jaskier lay in the dirt and stared up at the looming figure, letting the rush of fear seep out of his body, and his heart calm again. This was not an ideal situation, sure, but it no longer seemed life threatening right then. 

“Sorry about that.” He offered weakly. 

The monster let out a dismissive snort.

His body seemed to think that the lack of immediate threat was a good time to bring up more mundane complaints, and Jaskier became aware of just how bad he felt. A dull throb in his back set time, while a sharper thrum of pain from his ankle played accompaniment. His brain spun, waltzing through his skull. Jaskier shut his eyes, trying to breathe through the sudden dizziness.

When his throat spasmed, and sharp acid crept into the back of his mouth, Jaskier panicked. He struggled against the monster’s hold, fingers scrabbling in the dirt as he tried desperately to get away. 

“Let me go!” he hissed, pleadingly, through his teeth, clamping down against the sour taste. “Let me go!”

The beast did not relent, and he kicked out again, desperately. 

“Goddammit, I mean it. Let. Me. Go!” Miraculously this seemed to work. The hold on his leg was suddenly relinquished and Jaskier had just enough time to jerk away, rolling towards the side of the road before promptly vomiting up everything he had ever eaten in his life.

As far as introductions went, this wasn’t shaping up to be one of Jakier’s finest.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt delivers exposition and manhandles a bard

Fortunately, the small bard had stopped vomiting fairly quickly, at least in the physical sense. Unfortunately, the torrent of words that had begun to escape the man had not yet died down. Not when Geralt had hoisted him back over his shoulder, not when he had tossed him down next to a creek, nor when Geralt had made him take off his boot and stick his injured ankle into the cold water. The flow of words had slowed just the slightest when Geralt had pillaged a nearby squirrel hoard and dumped the handful of acorns and walnuts into the bard’s lap, muffled chatter not entirely stopped by mouthfuls of food. He had been subjected to the boy’s history, his dreams of adventures and bardic renown, his distaste of cold, rain, mulberries and most insects, and an alarmingly long and diverse list of past conquests and muses.

Geralt had made the mistake of responding. Just once, and not even with an actual word. Apparently, a non-committal hum was enough to reopen the floodgates and the chatter had only grown louder. He briefly wondered if the man’s brain had been injured in the recent fall, or if he was so annoying simply as a default of his nature.

“How exactly does the curse work then? It is actually a curse, right?” The bard had swept the empty walnut shells from his lap and was examining his injured leg. “You’re the prince that was transformed into a monster, aren’t you? Or one of the soldiers? How many soldiers are there?”

Geralt closed his eyes. 

They were still a few hours from Kaer Morhan if they kept pace, and, as far as he could sense, the other witchers had made themselves scarce. The little bard’s head injury seemed to be paining him less. Geralt could expect no relief from the distraction of other creatures or a fainting spell. 

Perhaps he was going about this wrong. Would the bard, Jaskier Julian Alfred something or other, be quiet if he had something to think about? Probably not, but Geralt was quickly nearing the end of his fraying rope.

“I’m not a prince.” He said, then quickly continued as Jaskier’s mouth opened. “Or a soldier. But I am cursed to look like this. I live here, with a few companions, also cursed, before you ask.”

“Ah.” Mercifully, the bard did seem at a loss for words. For all of three seconds.

“You have a castle, though right?”

“It’s a keep. But yes. Stop poking your ankle and wrap it tightly.”

“Are any of your companions princes? And with what?”

Geralt reached out and ripped a sleeve from the soiled doublet, stripping it from Jaskier’s arms and tearing it into strips before handing it back. He ignored the screeching protest.

“No.”

“More words would be helpful. Am I just supposed to start listing things you might be? Are you mercenaries? Merchants? Monks? Wizards? Warlocks?”

“Witchers.”

Blue eyes went wide, with excitement instead of fear “Oh. Oh, that’s perfect! Witchers!” Jaskier began to swing his hands wildly, flourishing the ruined sleeve. “Hunters of monsters, turned into their prey by a scorned-wait, what exactly is the curse? I mean, it was supposed to be a handsome prince, a heartbroken princess, a witch’s curse. The prince could only be restored to his former glory by true love’s kiss. The prince stuff is out, obviously but what about the rest?”

“Wrap your ankle. You have a long walk before we reach the keep. Unless you’d rather stay here and freeze.” Geralt was regretting his decision to take responsibility for the young bard. He doubted though that he would even be able to scrape him off at this point. Even if he were to leave him to the mercy of the woods, the man would likely haunt him.

“Come on. How am I supposed to create a ballad with no information?” Jaskier whined, but obediently began to care for his injuries, wetting a smaller strip of cloth in the creek to scrub at his bloodied hair.

“I can still eat you.” Geralt threatened, without too much earnestness.

“I’m a much better traveling companion than late night snack”

Geralt hummed.

“What if I shut up?” 

Geralt blinked, and the little bard sighed.

“Look, I know that certain people, after a while, can find my sparkling conversation somewhat grating.” Jaskier said honestly, and Geralt didn’t miss a flash of something, either pain or embarrassment that passed behind his eyes. “So as long as you talk, I’ll stay quiet. You said yourself it’s a long walk. Consider it…exposition” The bard paused, hopeful.

Geralt thought about his options. He could always knock him out.

Grabbing handfuls of fur and muscle, Jaskier levered himself up, using the beast as crutch, and Geralt had to grab the smaller man as his leg buckled.

“Oh. Oh, that hurts. That was not a good idea.”

The storm was coming. He could smell it in the air. They had wasted enough time with this foolishness. With a decisive grunt, Geralt manhandled Jaskier back over his shoulder and gave him a moment to arrange himself, wincing as a sharp elbow dug into his shoulder blade. Even propped up on his elbows, at least the position would be enough of a strain on the little bard’s diaphragm to discourage talking. He slung the lute over his other shoulder. 

He wasn’t sure why he had agreed. The first human he sees in over a century and he’s telling him this? Why? Did he hope to frighten him? Make him understand that he was dealing with a monster? The horns and fangs should have been enough, but the bard seemed to have no particular survival instinct.

“I will talk, briefly. And when I stop, you will still remain silent.” 

“Yes! Of course! I’ll be just as quiet as a little mouse, silent as- “ 

Geralt snorted.

“Sorry.” 

“There is a curse.” He paused, surprised when Jaskier didn’t immediately respond, but continued.

“A little over two hundred years ago, I was wintering in the keep, along with some others. One day, while they were away, off killing wolves, a woman appeared at the gate. She begged for my help, for protection against the monster that hunted her, but she had no coin. No way to pay for my services. She offered her gratitude, her appreciation, and when that failed, she offered herself.”

Geralt kept his tone even, recounting the story as if it were a history from a dusty schoolbook. 

“We reached an agreement and I hunted her monster throughout the winter. Killed it. Our contract was complete, but apparently, she had misunderstood the terms of our arrangement, thought we were lovers. I had thought she was paying in installments”

He felt the little bard shift against his shoulder and wrapped a paw more firmly around his thighs to keep him from being unseated. But true to his word, Jaskier didn’t say anything.

“I left her in a nearby village in the spring and went about finding more contracts. She was still there when I passed back through in the fall, returning to winter at the keep. Acting like a jilted bride. She begged me again, this time to at least take a token to remember her by, and like an absolute fool I did. It was just a flower. I didn’t see the harm.”

“It was cursed” Jaskier blurted out, and Geralt rolled his eyes. Honestly, he was impressed the silence had lasted as long as it had.

“Yes. Once I returned to the keep it took root and spread its poison. Those of us in the keep were transformed into monsters, unable to escape or fight.”

“Can It be broken?”

“All curses can be broken.”

“How?” 

Geralt growled and jostled the bard more violently than he had intended as he readjusted his grip. “I talk. You shut up. That was the arrangement.”

Jaskier drew in a breath and Geralt cut him off. “Shut up.”

He felt the smaller man slump back down, and finally, blessedly, he was allowed to travel in silence.


End file.
